The Unbearable Unfairness of Winning
On marbles and morals
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Unfairness first came to me in the unremarkable blocks of flats where I grew up in North West London. Not unfair because my siblings and I were poorer than the other kids. We had long ago accepted there was no money for the delightful crap other people enjoyed.
Mum, with her trademark West Indian pragmatism, would often caution us, “Don’t envy people their things. You don’t know what it really cost them.” Her words hinted at Faustus-like price tags that would only make sense to us in our adulting years.
Even at that young age, I was keenly aware of the world’s inequalities. The ‘Haves’ seemed to acquire more almost by osmosis, while people like my hardworking seamstress mum seemed to have less the harder they worked.
No. Unfair because of pesky Melanie, her mum, and a giant bag of marbles.
Tarmac-melting summer days were often creative, carefree and filled with forbidden adventures. Ignoring my mother’s warnings, I joyfully borrowed and rode dangerously unserviced bikes, sought out mischief and mayhem, and hung out with the misfits deemed “ruffians” by the upstanding citizens of our block. I had a great time being young and fearless.
